Silver and Lies
by VYLenLaySBLY
Summary: "Master fears none but one. there is none but one that could force defeat upon Master's shoulders...Finding him isn't the puzzle, convincing to fight with you is the question...He is good, cease your worries...You must have heard of him...The trickster, the sorcerer, the infamous Silvertongue. Loki of Asgard."
1. Falling

**Prologue: **Falling

**Warning: **OOC-ness with pretty much everyone, dumb author's notes, idiotic author notes, rambling author notes, angst, badass Loki, quotes, irregular updates, cool fighting scenes, hints of Natasha/Clint, snarky comments, Avengers plot-line and mild language.

**Chapter Summary: **The trickster falls, the Mother-Queen tricks and the Thunderer searches.

**Disclaimer see Author's profile page.**

* * *

He was falling.

Falling through time and space, through the very fabric of the universe. He could feel cruel hands pull at him, ripping his clothing into shreds, and when there was no clothing left to cover him, ripping at his skin and tearing flesh from bone.

No – that wasn't right.

There was no one else here in this abyss. It was just him, had been just him since he let go of Gungnir and let himself fall. He wanted to die. Had wanted to die. Did he still want to die?

No matter.

At this point he couldn't tell where he was, or who he was. Despite knowing that there was no one (could be no one) with him he felt as though he was being clawed at by hundreds of hands. His skin was bruised and beaten, chunks of flesh missing, trailing behind him and mingling with his blood. After letting go he had let himself fall freely for a time, before fear took over and he tried to grab at something, at anything, with his magic. It hadn't worked, and now his magical reserves were practically empty. He supposed that there was a trail of his magic somewhere in the dead of space now, unless it had already dissipated in the nothingness.

He risked opening his eyes, and quickly shut them tightly, though the image remained seared into his brain. It was amazing, a small part of his mind mused, that the sight of emptiness could be so horrifying. The rest of his mind was too busy being terrified by the sight. He was so far down that even the starlight barely reached him; all he could see was darkness. There was nothing to hear but the blood rushing in his ears and his own panicked heartbeat.

It was too much. He drew in a deep breath and gathered his magic about himself. It was a pitiful amount, but still better then nothing. Carefully he began to release it in small spurts in every direction, desperate to find something to latch onto. Even Midgard would be acceptable at this point.

There! Somewhere to his left (at least he thought his left – his sense of direction was useless here) there was a whisper of… something… a barren rock or the trail left by a comet. He latched onto it greedily, and pulled with the rest of his magic. This was to be his last chance at escaping this nightmare. He could feel his magic leaving him, his body failing.

He was dying.

He dared to open his eyes again, green orbs widening as he realized he could see shapes in the distance. Far away shapes yes, but shapes nonetheless. He cautiously lessened the amount of magic he was using, wanting to see if gravity would take over and pull him the rest of the way. Even though he only had a laughable amount of magic left at his disposal he'd like to preserve it if at all possible.

He was in luck. There was just enough gravity to pull him the rest of the way. He gave up on keeping his eyes open. Actually being able to see things after the nothingness he'd been seeing was too overwhelming. He let himself drift aimlessly; not caring if he collided with whatever he was going towards. At least that would kill him.

Gravity's grip tightened painfully, squeezing the air from his lungs. Gratefully, he allowed himself to lapse into unconsciousness.

When he woke he was lying on rough, cold stone. He scratched with one of his remaining fingernails at the surface, eyes still closed. It felt strange to be touching something after so long of touching nothing. He wondered vaguely if he was hallucinating. He dared to lift his chin from the ground, regretting the movement immediately when he collapsed back into the dirt, his teeth clanking at the abrupt motion. He shuddered minutely and allowed his beaten and broken body to relax completely against the stone, feeling more blood seep from his many wounds and pool beneath him.

Huddled in the cold rock of a forgotten moon, far from Yggdrasil's reach, he tries to breathe. His magic wavers, shuddering in his veins. His heart is giving out—he feels how his fingers start to shake from cold, how the numbness leaks higher up his limbs. Feels the world closing in as if shrinking into a box around him—a coffin.

His blood is cooling on his skin, though it pours out steadily from his uncountable wounds. He does not know how long he has lain here, running off like a cat crawling away to lick its wounds before it dies in some forgotten corner. To rot until the maggots hold his funeral, and the clicking of his bones in the wind his dirge.

More fit, he thinks with a smile, than any other monster of his kind would be fit to.

With great effort, Loki rolls onto his back and faces the black space. There are no stars here, save for the loneliest one years and years away whose ghost makes this moon shine as if alive. For all Loki knows, the star could have died eons ago, yet even time slacks in erasing it from existence. He would not be so fortunate, or unfortunate, for that privilege, he knows. He will die here, and no one will notice.

A wave of coldness wracks his insides, starting from his core and radiating outward. He gasps; his breath rattles. The blood thins.

Where?

Ah, Midgard, Earth, home of Thor's mortal friends, the ants that Odin so painstakingly wanting to protect. Protect them from what? The Frost Giants? The Chitauri? Himself? The prized liesmith? The God of Chaos and Mischief? The infamous Silvertongue?

At least his trusted magic are returning. The magic that he prided himself with, the magic that is stronger than even the All-Father himself. His wounds are beginning to heal, he could feel the skin stitching back together, albeit agonizingly slowly.

Loki stood from the cold stone, armor dripping blood, and started to walk.

Where to? He asked himself.

Where chaos reigns.

* * *

Loki is dead.

That is what everyone in the palace of Asgard believes.

Frigga knows that most of the warriors and advisers and personnel that takes resident inside the palace will no doubt be celebrating the 'death' of the infamous Silvertongue. The stupid ones are even badmouthing the fallen god in corners of the hall, just waiting for Frigga to snap their necks.

Thor and Odin believed too, as they were the one that actually watched Loki let go of Odin's spear. Odin left the hope of his son returning o call him father sometimes ago, but Thor was the one that asks Heimdall to see if his brother is still alive or not. Foolish really, since it was common knowledge, Loki can block the gatekeeper's sight whenever he wanted and wherever he wanted.

If Loki doesn't want to be found, no one in the nine realms are going to find him.

He is the Liesmith. He lies with not only his words, but actions as well.

Words are his domain and he knows their power. He uses them to tear down, to pierce masks and reveal intent. They are his greatest weapon, even when—_especially when— _they are his only weapon.

Oh, if all he has is his words, he'll use them. He'll listen to everyone and _hear _them. He'll know what they'll say and he'll know why they said it, even when they don't. He'll listen to the words— he'll _use_ the words, the glorious aching words that splattered uselessly and he'll wield them to the absolute best of his ability.

He is Loki. He is the Liesmith, Silvertongue, a wrangler and a trickster.

Listen carefully, Asgard.

Listen to the words.

Seeing is not always believing. That is the first rule she taught Loki as he struggles with magic when he was but a child.

_Good morning mother._

Frigga gently closed her tome with a giddy but content sigh, waved a hand, and the fireplace shimmered and produced a man. A Silvertongue.

"Good morning Loki. How is Earth?" His green eyes softened and a soft light danced across his features. Obviously at mirth, at whose expense, Frigga does not want to find out.

_Very eventful, the mortals have invented quite a few ways of ending each other's life._ Morbid humor, trademark of Loki that he made no attempt to hide.

"Anything else? Other than the barbaric ways of humans that you find so amusing."

_There is also an organization with a really...marvelous name. Their agents are so very fiery._

"You have encountered this organization?" Quirking a delicate eyebrow at this. As powerful as Loki is, he is currently on the abrasive and unapproachable side of personalities.

_Indeed, Midgard is full of surprises. I can take care of myself mother, you needn't worry about me._

She smiled, "Yes, you demanded my attention less than that hot headed brother of yours. There is another five walls that he demolished this week because of the current situation. Your father is getting frustrated."

The image face darkened slightly and sighed, his shoulder slacking. _I just need some fresh air. I will eventually come home when I figure this out._

"Loki?" There was a strain in his voice, even though holographic imagery communication was not much of a reliable way to correspond with your currently A.W.O.L son, she couldn't help but worry. Mother's instincts.

_There is something amiss. _Frigga found no trace of mischief visible in the trickster's eyes. Nothing. _The Tesseract has been found._ Her eyes widened at the mention of the powerful lost cube that has been stolen from Asgard eons ago. _The humans have been tampering with it. Trying to draw out its power. I fear it will not end well._

"Stop them before it is the Tesseract fully awakens and goes out of control from their foolish actions. The Tesseract is not for mortal hands." She stood up, blonde curls swishing as the urgency of her words traveled through worlds and to his ears.

_I understand mother. __I will do what I can, but I fear something else was at work here. An wakening malice. _A flash of brightness and Loki was gone, with his last words ringing in the stilling air. _I do not mind if you are to send someone to assist and protect Midgard. Preferably the Thunderer._

Frigga sighed and smiled lightly before crossing to the door. At least the hope of having her youngest son back was renewed. "I guess we will have a quick family meeting then."

* * *

**Author's Notes: I stupidly started on another story while simultaneously juggling another four more. The story idea is sitting in my brain and is not going any time soon to allow any useful things (like the various calculus formulas) to fill it. I have this all planned out, don't worry, the story is on a tight leash. **

**Ask me in reviews if there is anything that you don't understand. Review please!**

**Clearing something up: Loki loves his mother, and there is nothing in the universe and realms beyond that would dissuade me of that. Have you seen the fanfictions and fanarts that float around the net? Loki does care about his family and his mother more so than others, so he'll let her know what he is up to. Most of the times at least.**

**Do not kill be in my sleep if the updates have no particular pattern. Wake me up first.**

**I need a beta. Please!**


	2. Interogation

**Chapter 1: **Interrogation

**Warning: **OOC-ness with pretty much everyone, dumb author's notes, idiotic author notes, rambling author notes, angst, badass Loki, quotes, irregular updates, cool fighting scenes, hints of Natasha/Clint, snarky comments, Avengers plot-line and mild language.

**Chapter Summary: **Hawks are sadistic, Spiders are shaken.

**Disclaimer see Author's profile page.**

* * *

The Black Widow is usually a very patient woman.

She has to be if she wants to continue her assassin career. Waiting, stalling, spying before pulling the trigger or swinging the knife that would snuff out a person's life.

Natasha Romanoff had her share of interrogations.

There were a lot of times where she had been the interrogator, waiting for the sniveling tied to a chair or a cell to talk and save her the pain of using force. She has way better things to do than listen to the rich and corrupt politician plead through his gags. she either use her womanly charms to 'persuade' them to talk, or she just repeatedly bash their heads against the wall or floor until they do. The second option was a tad bit messier and she do so enjoy knocking them unconscious afterwards.

There were also times she had had been the victim of an interrogation. Where she was the one that was shackled to a rickety chair. she had genuinely lost count on how many times she had been in that position, and the amount of people she had to knock unconscious to get out of said position. There had been only two instances in her whole entire life Natasha Romanoff had been powerless. The first was the 'recruitment' of SHIELD. The second was...

She does not want to think about _that _right now. Maybe she could pay him a visit sometimes later and ask him to erase her memory of that night. She nearly killed Clint when he brought the subject up. She never wants to be that powerless again.

Speaking of the hawk...

"You can either talk before I stick my arrows up your ugly face, or talk after I finished. If you are still capable of talk," Clint Barton has a sadistic streak thicker than any of SHIELD's missile bunkers.

The prisoner's voice was raspy, filled with pauses and light choking noises. Coulson nearly had a heart attack when they brought him back to base, at least thirty feet of chains binding his body. Not a pretty sight at all, and extremely heavy. Clint is cursing and spluttering after Natasha had dumped the dead weight upon him.

"Clint, as much as I know how much you love interrogations, trying to find out how many arrows you can fit into his arms is really nor productive. He looks like a beehive dunked in red paint," Finally getting bored of the famous Hawkeye's antics, she gently eased herself off the pedestal in front of the cell room.

"If you tell us what you know, I promise I will free you."

His misshapen face lifted a centimeter, showing his dark eyes, "Swear to it."

"I swear," She is the one that made the oath, so she would be the one that defines the term free, "Now tell us what you know."

A strangled laugh escaped the prisoner's bruised lips, "My master is coming, and there is nothing you can do to stop him. The tesseract will be his, and he will destroy this universe along with the realms beyong." He is outright laughing by this point, blood dripping down from his arms and mouth. A raspy laugh that ejects saliva every where. the two assassins are unfazed, they have been through worse.

"How do we stop him? No matter how powerful, one can be defeated."

"Smart mortal," He jerked at the chains once, then twice, snapped his head upright and look straight through Natasha, as if relieving himself of some pent up message just wanting to be released. " He fears no one. You can only hope to delay him. The one that came to earth for the first stage, to conquer this planet, there is only one that he truly fears."

"Who?"

"No mortal weapon can defeat him when he decides to step foot onto this soil. Sorcery and trickery are the only way. There is only one in all the realms that has mastered all the forms of magic, that can force the Other to kneel."

"The Other? He is the one that is coming here?" She asked, already have half an answer to the person supposed to help in this dilemma. Be careful what you wise for, her mother always said.

"This sorcerer, how do we find him? Who is he?" Fidgeting with an arrow, the silent Clint finally showed some interest since his fun was plucked from him.

Another morbid chuckle sounded, "Finding him isn't the question, convincing him to fight with you, is."

That struck a warning bell in Natasha's mind. Of course that powerful bastard have a lot of reasons to not join forces with them. He is strong enough on his own, giving the ant-boot analogy a new meaning. Another part of her is concerned on how a little worm such as the one chained up knows this fact, then the Other would likely to recruit him to their little gang, he is not exactly on the light side. If he is not destructive, she doesn't know what else can describe him.

"So he is with you," There was Clint, trying to keep a straight face and fighting down the panic inside. It was really a hopeful question than a simple statement.

"He is on your side, cease your mindless worries." There was a hidden snarl in the prisoner's voice, not that it is well concealed.

He continued on, "He'll come when you least expects it. Convincing him to fight, for him to stay, that would be your concern." He spat out the last sentence like a sickly bile, "The liesmith, the trickster, the infamous Silvertongue."

Natasha closed her eyes as the horrible truth and the painful memory dawn upon her.

"Now set me free!" He screamed, straining against the chains.

"Gladly," One swipe of a simple kitchen knife lying on the counter and the prisoner's head rolled to a stop at her feet.

"Excellent word play Natasha," A soft clapping Coulson waltzed in, completely unfazed by the disembodied head and the silver blood pooling about the floor, "What's the plan director?"

"We gather the team," Fury walked in right after, followed closely by Maria Hill. "Stark, Cap and Banner," His no nonsense somber attitude positively egging everyone around to obey him.

"I'll go get Stark. We still have a drink to catch up on." Coulson waltzed back out, phone already out and about, head obvious thinking about new ways to stump the genius billionaire.

Waving a hand, inclining goodbye and Clint walked out of the prison cell as well, "Captain America is yours director, I'll find a way to convince , somehow." Already checking his bow and arrows to insure maximum protection against a green angry monster. There is no predicting what the Hulk might or might not do.

Natasha sighed and followed the rest out the door as well. The body will be the clean up crew's job, "I'll look into the Silvertongue sir. But there is honestly no telling where he is or what he's doing." Fury nodded, leaving Natasha wallowing in a painful memory and a really heavy migraine coming on.

All the differences aside, Loki Silvertongue is indeed an enigmatic man.

* * *

"The seer's mouth opened. The contents spilled. The mortals know of the invasion now."

"Not yet they don't."

"Perhaps not, but when the princes join them, they will know of the plan."

"He will not join the ants. We know he is above that."

"Too high above or not high enough. We should have never talked to him openly, and on earth no less."

"It is the only way to insure a clear answer."

"A clear answer for what exactly? We revealed far too much."

"So did he. Not all tricks the Silvertongue has, not all the most powerful. But enough to tell."

"You think he is too far up to go down easily."

"An Odinson never goes down easily. He will give them information, not help. Unless another source comes into play. A source that hold enough influence over him to sway him to earth's side."

"...Frigga. That witch!"

"Indeed, although she would not come herself, but she will send someone. The queen is the only one that the Silvertongue truly loves now. Now, make preparations The big debut is about to begin."

"How long until..."

"Three days at most."

"Germany is it?"

"Indeed."

* * *

_So Mother sent Thor, of all people. _He mused quietly. Fastening his bracers around his arms, sliding a knife in each. War preparations, all warriors must go through it, every detail must be looked at, nothing should be left unseen. That was the first lesson his father had taught him, along with Thor. He took it to heart, as did everyone else. He pulled on his gloves and buckled his boots.

Finally the last piece of the whole puzzle. Twin long white daggers in silver and green tone color and full tang construction. The oak handles have an vine design with solid cast metal guard and pommel. The blade was laden heavy with magic, only able to work for him, and him only. Sliding them into his belt, letting them shape to his body's form, ready.

He took a deep breath. It would take almost a day to reach Germany on mortal transportation. He knew he would have to save his magic for the inevitable battle with the Other. The enemy is strong, and he never underestimates his opponents.

_Thor is coming. _The silver lining in the dark grey clouds that surround him whenever he moves. By this thought, Loki permits himself a soft smile, and prepares to depart.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Another chapter done. At least I can breath a little easier knowing one of my stories has been updated. I'm trying to leave things in previous chapters, dots to be connected at a later date. How late, I have no idea. I put the Other in place of Loki as the villain in this. I hate him, really hate him.**

**Ask me in reviews if there is anything that you don't understand. Review please!**

**Clearing something up: Natasha Romanoff is an assassin, so she knows how to use a knife to cut a person's head off and make it dramatic. I borrowed that scene from the second Hobbits movie where Thranduil looks for loopholes in promises. I cannot and will not leave that prisoner alive one way or another. He is just a plot device really. Loki and the Black Widow have met. The story may or may not be added in later, as with the recruitment story with Loki and the Other. Loki uses long daggers, see Legolas's, in LOTR, skills if the fighting scenes I am about the write sucked. Hawkeye is sadistic, sue me.**

**Do not kill be in my sleep if the updates have no particular pattern. Wake me up first.**

**I need a beta. Please!**


	3. Kneel

**Chapter 2: Kneel**

**Warning: **OOC-ness with pretty much everyone, dumb author's notes, idiotic author notes, rambling author notes, angst, badass Loki, quotes, irregular updates, cool fighting scenes, hints of Natasha/Clint, snarky comments, Avengers plot-line and mild language.

**Chapter Summary: **Reasons for madness, reasons for names

**Disclaimer see Author's profile page.**

I would like to dedicate this chapter to** BekkaJane **who introduced me to her very good story _Out of the Night _and the great _Dark Prince Trilogy_. Thank you.

* * *

_Kneel before me. I said, KNEEL!_

_Is not this simpler? Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel._

_Not to men like you._

_There are no men like me._

_There are *always* men like you._

_Look to your elder, people. Let him be an example. Let him rue the day he dared to stand up to me._

A knife cut a swath in the chaotic night air, as if it had a life of its own, avoiding every civilian, aiming straight for the fighting body of the Other.

He screamed, the gash caught him unawares, the blade infused with magic, making the wound black and oozing tar. The man of Iron backed away, his systems scanning the immediate area, wanting to get a visual on the mystery assailant. One arm ready and looking, the other pointing at the doubled over form of the thing that yelled kneel.

"Stand back, he is not yours to fight," a velvety tone sounded behind the millionaire, immediately quieting the loud screams and shrieks from the pitiful ants. "Move," the man didn't raise his voice, but he did raise his knife. Stark have no doubt he would have a rather long blade in his chest if he doesn't obey.

The man is definitely not human, that much is blatantly obvious. He has an eternal quality, something that could never belong to this particular world. If the cackling waves of green and gold magic that surrounded the man, the half hidden leather coat underneath the thick black cloak or the glistening knife that he held in his elegant hand wasn't clued in enough.

With a flick of his hand he sent Stark flying, another flick his knife that made a gouge on the Other's back and side was in his spare hand. The blades immediately flared with emerald tinted magic. Then man is different, different from any superheros that had the guts to say they had 'magic.' He's more of a god than human.

"Why is an Asgardian meddling with human conflicts?" The other spat, his deformed hand holding his side, his face set into a grimace as the pain shot up again and again from his back.

"I am from Asgard, but I am no Aesir," The man said, the soft velvety tone never changing.

"Then identify yourself intruder and state your business here," the gruff voice of the Other held no respect for the person in front of him. He will never show respect to anyone like him. But he will soon show fear.

With a soft crack the man disappeared, then suddenly reappeared in a giant column of mist just behind the Other, his emerald knife at pointing at his throat.

"My name…" he started, the large hood on the cloak fell off when he flash stepped, revealing a pair of bright green eyes that practically glowed in the dark. A predator's eyes, a hunter's eyes, death's eyes. The man smiled, a grin that stretched from ear to ear, a smirk that could make even the bravest of soldiers shudder.

"My name," he said again, as if evaluating his answer, not wanting to give the wrong one. There is a malicious glint in his eyes that contrasted greatly with his milk white skin, a glint that would not go away.

"My name is Loki Silvertongue. Remember me?"

* * *

It was tempting, oh so bloody tempting to accept the Other's offer, to grip that powerful staff in his hands and make all of those who wronged him pay their dues. He would have done it, except he wasn't a complete idiot/amateur in the terms of magic.

Seriously, just because he fell through space and several black holes and almost drained his magic to depletion doesn't mean he lost his head and became some kind of irrational bastard that pretty much everyone in Asgard always thought he is.

He once though only mortals and Jotuns are idiotic. Well, you learn something new everyday. Not that he didn't think Asgardians are a bunch a simple minded fools that doesn't appreciate something they never could have hoped to achieve.

The only silver lining in the grey slab of cloud that is his life would have to be his family, though he doubt he could ever be a part of that again. Their love, their appreciation of whatever he wanted to be, even though he recognized the soft, pointed nudges to the directions he should taken instead of what he wanted to take, he did not fault them on what he had become.

At least his magic is back to full capacity now, filling his core once more, capable of so much in such a measly body. The staff offered to him would channel his magic better, even more powerful than the hunting knives his mother had given him in his last name day celebration.

He knows this fact, on how the magic had thrummed in the golden hilt, how beautifully the sharp blade on the tip had glowed in the soft moonlight. How powerful he had felt when he held it for the briefest second the Other had allowed. He had puzzled over the Other's horrified expression before everything felt into its rightful place.

He is a sorcerer, a wizard, a monster, a strategist; but an idiot that would believe anything another told him he was not.

That second seemed enough for him. For a sorcerer of his calibre, it was all it too to sense the gazillion control and brainwashing runes hidden underneath a barge of intricate spells that positively screamed fake power.

He was immensely thankful of the times he chose to stay with Moth-Frigga to practice the gift he was blessed with instead of running around with wooden swords and axes yelling at the top of his delicate lungs, and the vast number of times he spent in the enormous library of the palace, honing his magic even more. Until he surpassed even the All-Father. Until he can identify a spell or rune enchantment by just looking at it.

It was with great satisfaction as he swung his knife at the shocked 'thing' that was the Other. Obviously him, and what ever that was pulling the strings, had severely underestimated the amount of rage, disappointment betrayal and magic he possessed.

He wanted revenge, yes. He wanted all of them to hurt. he wanted the useless ants of this pathetic planet to be squashed under his boot. He wanted to be the one to plunge the knife into Odin's chest and laugh and jeer and yell and let everyone present see the truth that even the high and mighty Odin is a god-damned lying fraud. He wanted them to suffer, to feel the pain he has felt that day when he learnt of his heritage.

He hated them all, the cursed thing that's his family. But they are all he has left, so he loved them as well.

He wanted them to feel pain, he wanted them to hurt, he wanted them to scream, he wanted them to cry. The staff can give him all of that, for a price he could not pay.

He wanted to be the one that gave them all of those things. He wanted to be the last person they sees before the light leaves their eyes. he wanted to do those things so badly he almost considered taking up the Other's offer.

Then he realized those are just wishes, wishes he dreamed of having, but never wanting to have. They made him into the monster he is, those big wishes and dreams, but Odin and Frigga and Thor are still his family. So he loved them, so he couldn't kill them.

He is a monster, a monster about to help the humans he's supposed to devour. In the end, he was just a powerful monster, lost and alone, dreaming of impossible things, waiting and wanting for one thing.

He slashed at the Other's throat, wanting to taste the battle like Thor would do once upon a time and not so long ago. In the end, the reason he still continued to fight, to breath, to feel, was for just one small thing.

In the end, Loki just wanted to die.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Another chapter done. At least I can breath a little easier knowing one of my stories has been updated. I'm trying to leave things in previous chapters, dots to be connected at a later date. How late, I have no idea. I put the Other in place of Loki as the villain in this. I hate him, really hate him.**

**Ask me in reviews if there is anything that you don't understand. Review please!**

**Clearing something up: The reason for Loki's name change will be explained later or if you just squint. The conversation at the start is directly from the Avenger's dialogue. I might pull them up at the start of each related chapter.**

**Do not kill be in my sleep if the updates have no particular pattern. Wake me up first.**

**Updates will be soon but irregular.**


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